(no subject)
Oct. 18th, 2006 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elohveebut there's a border to somewhere waiting.
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. NC-17. Warnings for incest, language, broken!Dean, references to evil!possessed!Sam, references to D/s, angst, and violence. Hurt!verse, set about seven months after the ending of That Bite to Take. Approx. 2,150 words. Beta and coding love to the immeasurably wonderful![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
la_folle_allure. Title from Meat Loaf.
Dean's not too good with time anymore, but he thinks the silence must've lasted at least two hours. Quiet used to make him nervous, fidgety—part of the reason he always played his music as loud as he did, why he was always so careful to laugh.
He sits now, motionless, at the edge of the bed, watching Sam across the mattress. His brother hasn't moved. Sam stays still, even when he finally speaks. His voice sounds dry, scratchy, like he's not used to it anymore. Like since the demon or spirit or whatever it was took a walk in his skin, it doesn't fit like it's supposed to. Like a favorite old shirt that got stretched out of shape or shrank in the wash.
His eyes flick open to look at Dean, but he looks away just as fast. The rest of him doesn't so much as twitch. He sighs and says quietly, "How long?"
And Dean says, "What?"
Sam shakes his head slowly. "I... didn't always know what was happening. Time was different, I think. How long was I under?"
Dean wishes he could remember how to lie. "It's... it's December. I... I checked. Sammy, it's been over a year."
There's a pause: Sam calculating. He finally lifts his head and he stares, eyes empty and his mouth halfway open. "Fourteen months," he says roughly. Dean drops his gaze and nods.
"Yeah," he says.
"Fuck," Sam says, and Dean can hear his voice changing right then and there. "Fuck, Dean! Fourteen months of this, and you just let it happen?" He pushes off the mattress and the squealing springs sound the way Dean feels. "You just let that, that thing take my body and do those things to you for fourteen months?"
"It wasn't like that," Dean says, fingers twisted in the bedspread, squeezing tight. "Sammy, please, I—I didn't mean for it to—"
It's that laugh again, and for a second Dean's not sure if It's taken over again or not. Sam leans back against the wall and lowers his head into his hands. "Bullshit, Dean. Fucking bullshit. I could feel it, see it, almost everything—you begged it to, to—fuck!" One of his hands balls into a fist and slams back against the wall. "You wanted it! You couldn't have me so you let that thing just—"
"Sam," Dean says, helpless. He gets up to cross the room and stands there, not even sure what he's trying to say.
He doesn't remember Sammy being this tall. Maybe he's gotten smaller. Maybe he's just forgotten how much bigger Sam's anger can make him seem. When they were kids, it only ever made him smaller.
Sam's glaring at him, and his eyes slip downwards. Dean instantly wants to flinch away—he's a mess of bruises, burns, cuts, and he wishes he knew where his shirts were; the jeans, slung over the back of the chair, were the only thing he'd been able to find when Sam untied his hands.
He tries again, "Sam." His hand shakes when he reaches, fingers trembling when Dean snakes a hand around the back of Sam's neck and steps forward. Leaning his forehead against Sam's he whispers, "Please, Sammy." The kiss is more tentative than gentle, but it's still different. Sam doesn't move, but Dean sighs, relaxes. "I just wanted... I wanted us—"
Maybe he doesn't remember as much of his training as he thought. This time, he doesn't see it coming. This time, Sam's punch knocks him over.
From the ground, Sam looks even taller. He's staring at his hand, and the only sound is Dean's breathing, heavy and... and not pained. Sam lowers his hand and focuses on his brother, on Dean's face.
It's somehow different to see it like this. To know that Sam did this, that it was really him. Dean's staring at him, and he looks willing—god, just so open and willing—and he's just... asking for it. Not aloud, but Sam knows. He can remember everything Dean said before, panicked, desperate whispers: please sammy please hurt me fuck me please do it whatever you want sammy please. Everything Dean's thinking now.
And Sam says, "You called it my name. You called him Sammy." Dean just stares, so small, terrified, broken, and Sam, shaking, turns on his heel and walks to the door. "Fuck this," he says, almost whispers, but he knows Dean heard it. He doesn't turn back around to say, "Don't follow me," and he doesn't doubt anymore that Dean will listen. That he'll follow orders.
He slams the door behind himself and for thirty minutes, he doesn't even look up to see where he's going.
::
There are parts of... of that time that Dean doesn't remember. Long, black spots, like there are supposed to be if you're going crazy or have a split personality or what the fuck ever. There are times he just doesn't remember, because there's no way it was fourteen months. No way it could've been that long. That short.
He knows part of it was the drugs, the blows to the head. He thinks maybe early on, for some of it, he just shut down. Blocked everything out. He's just not sure he knows why, now.
::
Sam comes back. The first time, the second time. The third time he leaves Dean, disgusted and frustrated, he stays gone for two days. Dean sits where Sam leaves him and doesn't move, and when his brother finally comes back to the room, he yells and tries to get Dean to shout back, but he won't. He can't. It's like there's just no fight left in him.
When Sam hits him, Dean goes down fast and hard and he makes no effort to hold himself up at all.
Vulnerable. That's the word. Staring at Dean on the ground, his mouth bleeding his chest heaving, he's like a broken little rag doll and Sam doesn't know he's ever though of Dean as anything less fearsome than the warrior their father made him, that he used to be. At least not until now.
Now. Now is different. Now is Dean all but begging him for fucking weeks, writhing in his bed, gasping and open-mouthed while Sam fucks him, but always talking, rasping in Sam's ear, harder. faster. make it hurt, sammy, oh god, please, make it—
More often than not, Sam does it his way. Takes it slow enough, gentle enough, even though it's not slow or gentle at all. More often than not, he finishes and leaves Dean in a pile of dirty linens, still hard and sweating and saying, please. please, i need it. i need you to do it. please.
And he won't listen when Sam says, no. i can't. i won't. fuck you, man. no.
And now. On his knees, cock straining his jeans and his eyes wide, he looks so fucking pitiful. Beautifully broken and so willing, and it's pathetic. Dean's face is bright and just shy of hopeful and he licks his lip and swallows and says, sam, please. do it.
Like all he wants Sam to do is just break him a little bit more. Hurt him just a little bit worse. Nails digging into his palms, Sam watches, tries to ignore his own dick, and he just wishes he knew how the hell they got here. And when.
::
It's in Nevada that things break down completely.
Along the highway in the desert, there's a trail of bloodied bodies that trace to a flock of harpies with matted feathers and steel claws. They limp back to their motel at four in the morning, battered and bruised, and they take turns licking their wounds.
Sam's hands are cold as he bandages a slice across Dean's abdomen. He avoids the other marks, the burns fading now to scars. They both pretend not to notice.
Pressing the last bandage into place he says, "Okay?" and Dean nods.
"S'good. Thanks, man."
He moves to sit up, and Sam splays his hand flat across his chest and pushes him down. "Stay," he says, starting to smile. He trails past the gauze and hooks two fingers in Dean's waistband, his other hand on the zipper. He says, "Dean?" and Dean sighs, grateful and says, "Yeah, Sammy. Yeah."
Sam slips a hand into Dean's jeans and leans to kiss his brother, his left hand cradling the back of Dean's head. He never used to do this. He never used to be this careful. Dean remembers that much from before. Now, Sammy's tentative, always asking questions, asking for permission. He kisses like he'd kiss a girl, maybe like he kissed Jess. Careful pressure, conscious of every little thing, every tiny hitch or shift.
Whenever Dean tries to ask, Sam interrupts him with his lips and tongue. Whenever he tries to beg, whenever he says, please. i, i want—i need you to—Sam puts two fingers over Dean's mouth and whispers in his ear, shh. it's okay. i know.
It's not that he doesn't know. It's just that he won't listen.
Dean pushes his hips up and into the pressure of Sam's hand, and he says, breathless, "Sam, Sammy—please. I want—fuck me, please. Do it."
Sam's breath shudders out of him and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. But slow, Dean. I want to, I want it slow."
Dean bites his lip white but nods, nudges Sam with his hip. "Yeah. Anything. Just—just do it."
Sam nods and kisses Dean's throat once, then starts to pull back. "Lemme—lube's somewhere in my bag, gimme a minute."
And Dean, trying to hurry his way out of his jeans, makes this anguished noise in his throat and says, "Don't need it. God, just do it. Please, Sammy—you never used to bother before."
And then he stops. They both do.
Sam's fingers clench and his eyes go hard, dark. Angry and hurt and he breathes in once, exhales slowly.
"What did you say?"
"Fuck, Sam, I—I'm sorry. Forget it, I didn't mean—" Dean looks terrified. Sam grew up knowing that Dean hardly ever looks terrified.
It's like a blow to the stomach when he realizes. Dean really does want this. Dean really is getting off on it. This isn't behavioral conditioning or the aftershock of whatever the fuck that thing in Sam had done to his brother. It's just Dean. And whatever that thing was, that thing that wasn't Sam, he misses it. He still wants what it could give him.
His eyes are wide, his mouth open and his lips wet with blood and spit. In the light from the bedside lamp, the bruises fade to a sickly grey-green. Down further, his dick is hard and dark, curving up toward his stomach.
"You..." Sam begins, eyes widening, and he doesn't even know what he means to say until it just comes out. "Fuck," he hisses, watching Dean's eyes and his chest, rapid breaths making it rise and fall. The scars on Dean's skin are still pink. Sam was still cleaning that last, lingering burn two weeks ago.
It's easier to think of the marks as something done to his brother when he's not looking. It's easier to pretend that they were inflicted, that Dean fought with everything he had but he suffered casualties. Sam saw it, heard it, felt it all, remembers Dean begging and pleading with that thing, anything if it would just—
He still can't imagine it really happening, except when his brother's like this. And that only makes him angrier.
Sam tightens a hand on Dean's shoulder, digging his nails into Dean's skin until he feels the break and the sticky-wet of blood against his fingertips. Dean almost whimpers, and this time, watching, Sam sees Dean's cock jump again.
"Goddamnit," he growls, and then: "Get down. Fucking get on your knees."
The look on Dean's face is just—no. He's not even going to think about that.
::
For the first time in over a year, Dean looks peaceful as he sleeps. His lip is split and still bloody, he has fingernail gauges on his shoulders and back and tearstains down his cheeks. He's curled close to Sam, fucked out and fucked open. He's got new bruises, Sam's teeth in his shoulder and Sam's hands digging into his hips.
And it makes him happy. It makes him relaxed. Sam doesn't know what to do with that.
The clock blinks two thirty-six. Three-oh-nine. Four twenty-two, and he still hasn't slept. He gave up trying to make himself look at Dean somewhere between one forty-three and now.
Silently, Sam dresses. His bag is still packed by the door, and he manages not to slam it shut.
It's five miles to the nearest bus stop, and then another fifteen to get to the airport.
He starts walking.
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. NC-17. Warnings for incest, language, broken!Dean, references to evil!possessed!Sam, references to D/s, angst, and violence. Hurt!verse, set about seven months after the ending of That Bite to Take. Approx. 2,150 words. Beta and coding love to the immeasurably wonderful
la_folle_allure. Title from Meat Loaf.Dean's not too good with time anymore, but he thinks the silence must've lasted at least two hours. Quiet used to make him nervous, fidgety—part of the reason he always played his music as loud as he did, why he was always so careful to laugh.
He sits now, motionless, at the edge of the bed, watching Sam across the mattress. His brother hasn't moved. Sam stays still, even when he finally speaks. His voice sounds dry, scratchy, like he's not used to it anymore. Like since the demon or spirit or whatever it was took a walk in his skin, it doesn't fit like it's supposed to. Like a favorite old shirt that got stretched out of shape or shrank in the wash.
His eyes flick open to look at Dean, but he looks away just as fast. The rest of him doesn't so much as twitch. He sighs and says quietly, "How long?"
And Dean says, "What?"
Sam shakes his head slowly. "I... didn't always know what was happening. Time was different, I think. How long was I under?"
Dean wishes he could remember how to lie. "It's... it's December. I... I checked. Sammy, it's been over a year."
There's a pause: Sam calculating. He finally lifts his head and he stares, eyes empty and his mouth halfway open. "Fourteen months," he says roughly. Dean drops his gaze and nods.
"Yeah," he says.
"Fuck," Sam says, and Dean can hear his voice changing right then and there. "Fuck, Dean! Fourteen months of this, and you just let it happen?" He pushes off the mattress and the squealing springs sound the way Dean feels. "You just let that, that thing take my body and do those things to you for fourteen months?"
"It wasn't like that," Dean says, fingers twisted in the bedspread, squeezing tight. "Sammy, please, I—I didn't mean for it to—"
It's that laugh again, and for a second Dean's not sure if It's taken over again or not. Sam leans back against the wall and lowers his head into his hands. "Bullshit, Dean. Fucking bullshit. I could feel it, see it, almost everything—you begged it to, to—fuck!" One of his hands balls into a fist and slams back against the wall. "You wanted it! You couldn't have me so you let that thing just—"
"Sam," Dean says, helpless. He gets up to cross the room and stands there, not even sure what he's trying to say.
He doesn't remember Sammy being this tall. Maybe he's gotten smaller. Maybe he's just forgotten how much bigger Sam's anger can make him seem. When they were kids, it only ever made him smaller.
Sam's glaring at him, and his eyes slip downwards. Dean instantly wants to flinch away—he's a mess of bruises, burns, cuts, and he wishes he knew where his shirts were; the jeans, slung over the back of the chair, were the only thing he'd been able to find when Sam untied his hands.
He tries again, "Sam." His hand shakes when he reaches, fingers trembling when Dean snakes a hand around the back of Sam's neck and steps forward. Leaning his forehead against Sam's he whispers, "Please, Sammy." The kiss is more tentative than gentle, but it's still different. Sam doesn't move, but Dean sighs, relaxes. "I just wanted... I wanted us—"
Maybe he doesn't remember as much of his training as he thought. This time, he doesn't see it coming. This time, Sam's punch knocks him over.
From the ground, Sam looks even taller. He's staring at his hand, and the only sound is Dean's breathing, heavy and... and not pained. Sam lowers his hand and focuses on his brother, on Dean's face.
It's somehow different to see it like this. To know that Sam did this, that it was really him. Dean's staring at him, and he looks willing—god, just so open and willing—and he's just... asking for it. Not aloud, but Sam knows. He can remember everything Dean said before, panicked, desperate whispers: please sammy please hurt me fuck me please do it whatever you want sammy please. Everything Dean's thinking now.
And Sam says, "You called it my name. You called him Sammy." Dean just stares, so small, terrified, broken, and Sam, shaking, turns on his heel and walks to the door. "Fuck this," he says, almost whispers, but he knows Dean heard it. He doesn't turn back around to say, "Don't follow me," and he doesn't doubt anymore that Dean will listen. That he'll follow orders.
He slams the door behind himself and for thirty minutes, he doesn't even look up to see where he's going.
::
There are parts of... of that time that Dean doesn't remember. Long, black spots, like there are supposed to be if you're going crazy or have a split personality or what the fuck ever. There are times he just doesn't remember, because there's no way it was fourteen months. No way it could've been that long. That short.
He knows part of it was the drugs, the blows to the head. He thinks maybe early on, for some of it, he just shut down. Blocked everything out. He's just not sure he knows why, now.
::
Sam comes back. The first time, the second time. The third time he leaves Dean, disgusted and frustrated, he stays gone for two days. Dean sits where Sam leaves him and doesn't move, and when his brother finally comes back to the room, he yells and tries to get Dean to shout back, but he won't. He can't. It's like there's just no fight left in him.
When Sam hits him, Dean goes down fast and hard and he makes no effort to hold himself up at all.
Vulnerable. That's the word. Staring at Dean on the ground, his mouth bleeding his chest heaving, he's like a broken little rag doll and Sam doesn't know he's ever though of Dean as anything less fearsome than the warrior their father made him, that he used to be. At least not until now.
Now. Now is different. Now is Dean all but begging him for fucking weeks, writhing in his bed, gasping and open-mouthed while Sam fucks him, but always talking, rasping in Sam's ear, harder. faster. make it hurt, sammy, oh god, please, make it—
More often than not, Sam does it his way. Takes it slow enough, gentle enough, even though it's not slow or gentle at all. More often than not, he finishes and leaves Dean in a pile of dirty linens, still hard and sweating and saying, please. please, i need it. i need you to do it. please.
And he won't listen when Sam says, no. i can't. i won't. fuck you, man. no.
And now. On his knees, cock straining his jeans and his eyes wide, he looks so fucking pitiful. Beautifully broken and so willing, and it's pathetic. Dean's face is bright and just shy of hopeful and he licks his lip and swallows and says, sam, please. do it.
Like all he wants Sam to do is just break him a little bit more. Hurt him just a little bit worse. Nails digging into his palms, Sam watches, tries to ignore his own dick, and he just wishes he knew how the hell they got here. And when.
::
It's in Nevada that things break down completely.
Along the highway in the desert, there's a trail of bloodied bodies that trace to a flock of harpies with matted feathers and steel claws. They limp back to their motel at four in the morning, battered and bruised, and they take turns licking their wounds.
Sam's hands are cold as he bandages a slice across Dean's abdomen. He avoids the other marks, the burns fading now to scars. They both pretend not to notice.
Pressing the last bandage into place he says, "Okay?" and Dean nods.
"S'good. Thanks, man."
He moves to sit up, and Sam splays his hand flat across his chest and pushes him down. "Stay," he says, starting to smile. He trails past the gauze and hooks two fingers in Dean's waistband, his other hand on the zipper. He says, "Dean?" and Dean sighs, grateful and says, "Yeah, Sammy. Yeah."
Sam slips a hand into Dean's jeans and leans to kiss his brother, his left hand cradling the back of Dean's head. He never used to do this. He never used to be this careful. Dean remembers that much from before. Now, Sammy's tentative, always asking questions, asking for permission. He kisses like he'd kiss a girl, maybe like he kissed Jess. Careful pressure, conscious of every little thing, every tiny hitch or shift.
Whenever Dean tries to ask, Sam interrupts him with his lips and tongue. Whenever he tries to beg, whenever he says, please. i, i want—i need you to—Sam puts two fingers over Dean's mouth and whispers in his ear, shh. it's okay. i know.
It's not that he doesn't know. It's just that he won't listen.
Dean pushes his hips up and into the pressure of Sam's hand, and he says, breathless, "Sam, Sammy—please. I want—fuck me, please. Do it."
Sam's breath shudders out of him and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. But slow, Dean. I want to, I want it slow."
Dean bites his lip white but nods, nudges Sam with his hip. "Yeah. Anything. Just—just do it."
Sam nods and kisses Dean's throat once, then starts to pull back. "Lemme—lube's somewhere in my bag, gimme a minute."
And Dean, trying to hurry his way out of his jeans, makes this anguished noise in his throat and says, "Don't need it. God, just do it. Please, Sammy—you never used to bother before."
And then he stops. They both do.
Sam's fingers clench and his eyes go hard, dark. Angry and hurt and he breathes in once, exhales slowly.
"What did you say?"
"Fuck, Sam, I—I'm sorry. Forget it, I didn't mean—" Dean looks terrified. Sam grew up knowing that Dean hardly ever looks terrified.
It's like a blow to the stomach when he realizes. Dean really does want this. Dean really is getting off on it. This isn't behavioral conditioning or the aftershock of whatever the fuck that thing in Sam had done to his brother. It's just Dean. And whatever that thing was, that thing that wasn't Sam, he misses it. He still wants what it could give him.
His eyes are wide, his mouth open and his lips wet with blood and spit. In the light from the bedside lamp, the bruises fade to a sickly grey-green. Down further, his dick is hard and dark, curving up toward his stomach.
"You..." Sam begins, eyes widening, and he doesn't even know what he means to say until it just comes out. "Fuck," he hisses, watching Dean's eyes and his chest, rapid breaths making it rise and fall. The scars on Dean's skin are still pink. Sam was still cleaning that last, lingering burn two weeks ago.
It's easier to think of the marks as something done to his brother when he's not looking. It's easier to pretend that they were inflicted, that Dean fought with everything he had but he suffered casualties. Sam saw it, heard it, felt it all, remembers Dean begging and pleading with that thing, anything if it would just—
He still can't imagine it really happening, except when his brother's like this. And that only makes him angrier.
Sam tightens a hand on Dean's shoulder, digging his nails into Dean's skin until he feels the break and the sticky-wet of blood against his fingertips. Dean almost whimpers, and this time, watching, Sam sees Dean's cock jump again.
"Goddamnit," he growls, and then: "Get down. Fucking get on your knees."
The look on Dean's face is just—no. He's not even going to think about that.
::
For the first time in over a year, Dean looks peaceful as he sleeps. His lip is split and still bloody, he has fingernail gauges on his shoulders and back and tearstains down his cheeks. He's curled close to Sam, fucked out and fucked open. He's got new bruises, Sam's teeth in his shoulder and Sam's hands digging into his hips.
And it makes him happy. It makes him relaxed. Sam doesn't know what to do with that.
The clock blinks two thirty-six. Three-oh-nine. Four twenty-two, and he still hasn't slept. He gave up trying to make himself look at Dean somewhere between one forty-three and now.
Silently, Sam dresses. His bag is still packed by the door, and he manages not to slam it shut.
It's five miles to the nearest bus stop, and then another fifteen to get to the airport.
He starts walking.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 02:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 02:35 am (UTC)Re: But There's a Border... (SW/DW, NC-17))
Date: 2006-10-19 05:33 am (UTC)CANNOT WAIT FOR MORE!
I'm kinda worried what'll happen to Dean without someone telling him what to do. If it wasn't for the fact it costs money to stay in the hotel, I'd wonder if Dean would stay where Sam left him until he dies or commits suicide. :-\
Dina
Re: But There's a Border... (SW/DW, NC-17))
Date: 2006-10-19 11:46 am (UTC)Thank you so much!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 02:51 am (UTC)Ummm, I want some more?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 03:13 am (UTC)Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 03:06 am (UTC)Yes yes, more please!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 03:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 04:06 am (UTC)You're killing me.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 11:52 am (UTC)And thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 04:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 11:53 am (UTC)Thank you! :O)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 04:46 am (UTC)This BROKE me. *heart-pieces all over the floor* You made me cry!
And I love this. I love every minute of it, every syllable, every comma and period and space.
Dean is so fucking broken and it hurts but goddamn, you do it so well. And Sam? Oh, Sam... *cries a little more*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 11:54 am (UTC)And thank you so so much. I'm glad you're enjoying it, depressing as it is. :O)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 08:27 am (UTC)He's coming back, right? *wibble* Cause I think that would hurt Dean more than anything.
OMG so Sam vs evil!Sam. Poor boy, so messed up. And when the realization hits that Dean does want it...what a sucker punch. Loved this.
OMG I can not get enough of this universe. GAH.
*loves*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 11:56 am (UTC)Sam really is just as messed up as his brother over all this. Just in a different sort of way. (God, I swear, someday all of these characters will rally against us and take us to Fanfic Court and have us thrown in Fandom Prison for decades because of all the things we do to them.)
*loves back*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 10:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 10:40 pm (UTC)But then, you know, Sam wanted to be a lawyer. If there are any women or gay men on the jury, we're screwed.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 10:45 am (UTC)I need more ... even with the demon gone they're still so screwed up ...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 11:57 am (UTC)They really are screwed up always. But that's part of why we love them, yes? *pets boys*
Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 12:06 pm (UTC)Sam has to go back to Dean, he just has too. Although not coming back will be interesting too.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 08:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 03:28 pm (UTC)Seriously. You just... you win.
I am so incoherent right now. I've got nothing...
That was just hurty and beautiful and omg... the boys!
really that was awesome.
Dear lord.
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 08:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 07:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-19 08:58 pm (UTC)Thank you! :O)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-20 03:02 am (UTC)i forget why i haven't been reading your fics up till now, but um? you are now on my official LIST OF PEOPLE WHO I HAVE TO READ EVERYTHING BY. i shouldn't have ended that with a preposition but i dont care. ald;fj;wdlfj.d
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-20 03:41 am (UTC)Hee, I like those kinds of lists. Thank you so much! :O)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-21 10:25 pm (UTC)But then, among the lines, I guess Sam's anger started making sense. Why should Dean be the only one affected ? The only one broken ? And his behaviour, disgusts, is surely explained by the lack of memory...
Still, I'd have thought Sam would be so sorry for Dean, so mad at himself, rather than at Dean, for not being able to push the demon away, to fight it long enough to release Dean...
I guess I need more. lol. Am I not demanding ?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-22 03:16 am (UTC)As far as Sam's behavior, I did think about how to write his reaction for a good long while. Essentially, I decided this:
If his possession had been shorter, a few weeks at most, I imagine he'd react much in the way you describe – with guilt and shame, even if he did remember fully. I don't see his missing memories as a handicap to feel badly about what "he" has done. Sam has seen enough in fourteen months to know that Dean was eventually gone enough that he accepted it, wanted it, and the thought may have initially evoked pity.
But think about Sam's position here. He's trapped in his own body, unable to move or speak or do anything but exist in certain, unclear times (this isn't based at all on what we know about possession by THE demon in the show; whatever possesses Sam, it has no relation to the thing that killed Mary and Jessica at all). He's stuck and waiting for over a year, and yes, of course he feels sorry for Dean at the beginning. But after about six months, the demon starts to leave Dean with his hands free when he's lucid and alone (and, sometimes, with possessed!Sam there). He gives Dean the autonomy to find a way out if he really wants it. The key here is that Dean doesn't do anything to get Sam back. And Sam knows that. He sees that, even through all of the gaps.
Is Dean too mentally abused and messed up to think far enough to try? Yes. Everything's become so twisted, he doesn't really know to separate his brother from the demon anymore, or even how. He doesn't really remember much more than the fact that he's "Sam's" brother, that he's Dean. He doesn't really remember what they were or what they did before all of this started.
Of course Sam's treatment of Dean once he's been freed from the demon isn't entirely fair. But he's got plenty of reasons to be angry. There is some more insight on his feelings coming, and part of his anger stems from the fact that he has been trying to fight the possession, but as far as he's seen, Dean gave up on him.
As far as Dean and his thoughts and reactions, you're partly right here:
and Dean not being able to tell the deference, like, at all, not being able to understand this wasn't the same person who'd tortured him
A year of abuse like this can do a lot the human psyche, and Dean was pretty broken already. He doesn't really make that distinction between Sam and possessed!Sam any more. He knows there's a difference, but as you can see right before Sam leaves at the end, if he's unfocused, he can slip right back into confusing who's who, or even if there's any difference at all.
(Jesus god, what does it say about what I do to these characters that I have to write an essay to basically explain what's wrong with them? *shakes head*)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-22 09:04 am (UTC)ok, thanks, it's starting to make a bit more sense. Again, your chapter was perfectly right, it's all about me... I guess I understand now why Sam is so angry...I never thought about the fact Dean never did anything to exorcize him.
( btw, are you gonna tell us how he got the control of his body back ? Did the demon just leave ? Is it some kind of big scheme to destroy the winchesters , or just a random possession ? ( yeah, right. ) )
I understand better now why Sam feels so betrayed. Why he feels so disgusted.
Okay. I read it again, and if it is possible, I love you even more...
It wasn't like that," Dean says, fingers twisted in the bedspread, squeezing tight. "Sammy, please, I—I didn't mean for it to—"
It's that laugh again, and for a second Dean's not sure if It's taken over again or not.
fuck. This is perfect. Actually, it's way better than what I'd imagined.
Dean really does want this. Dean really is getting off on it. This isn't behavioral conditioning or the aftershock of whatever the fuck that thing in Sam had done to his brother. It's just Dean. And whatever that thing was, that thing that wasn't Sam, he misses it. He still wants what it could give him.
Sam is so wrong. The only thing Dean wanted was 'Sammy' 's attention, and since he could only get it when it hurted, then he asked for it. It's not the pain he liked, it's the fact that his 'brother' took care of him.
I hope he'll understand that, somewhere on the road. I figured he would leave too. The reason why is still left unclear though, I recon you saved the explaination for another part. I thought he'd left because of guilt, because he knew Dean needed time to put himself back together.
*actually, I was thinking about an AU verse, were this happens before Stanford, and so Sam leaves to go to College to give Dean space, and time. And Dean calls him every fucking day, begging him to come home, that he needs him, except it's not him he needs, it's the demon. And Sam smashes the phone and gets a new one, with a new number, and asks his dad not to let dean now, and well when Dean comes back 4 years later, he's so surprised to see Dean that much independant and not angry at all, and he thinks he's allright. But duh ! not my verse :p ... Yours is so much better anyway ...*
- did I told you your fiction is fucking obsessing ? Like, even more than the show itself ? -
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-22 10:02 pm (UTC)For now, I take the Hitchcockian approach: It doesn't matter why it's happening. Just watch. :O)
Sam is so wrong. The only thing Dean wanted was 'Sammy' 's attention, and since he could only get it when it hurted, then he asked for it. It's not the pain he liked, it's the fact that his 'brother' took care of him.
Again, partly. In the beginning, yes: Dean only really wanted Sam's attention. It's why in part one, he does surrender to the demon. It's why even though he knows something is wrong, he takes what he can get. But more than a year of being around possessed!Sam has fucked up his feelings and his perceptions enough that he can't really accept that gentle affection is the same. It makes him feel like an appeasement policy, and then Sam's going to leave him when Dean's a bit better. He can't understand that Sam's trying to go back to, for lack of a better word, "normal", and he also can't really get off on it.
I figured he would leave too. The reason why is still left unclear
Some of it is guilt. Towards the end, Sam gives Dean what he wants and hurts him, and he feels guilty for that, and he's still scared as hell of the demon, that it might come back or that it's somehow made him do this to Dean. The other half is disgust. With himself, and still, with Dean for wanting this. For begging Sam for it. That Dean still wants to be hurt makes him feel that Dean doesn't even want him anymore at all, that he really just wants whatever possessed him, and that in lieu of the real thing, his brother will do.
I actually do like the idea for a pre-Stanford AU, but Sam having left before is important to Dean's reaction. First, because he halfway expects Sam to leave again. The way I see him, in canon (up to the first few eps of season 2, at least) and out, Dean truly believes that Sam hates him. He believes that at some point, Sam will leave him and that'll be it. Because really? Dean's got serious abandonment issues: his mother dies, his brother (who he's spent his whole life protecting and watching over) leaves, his girlfriend pushes him away, and then his dad first leaves, then dies. He really believes that he will end up all alone, someday, and he's terrified of that. Without that fear, I don't believe Dean would have reacted toward possessed!Sam the way he did back in the very beginning, and then there wouldn't be much of a story at all.
In some twisted, very sad way, Sam's leaving this time around also will remind Dean of the first time, and it's going to shock him awake.
- did I told you your fiction is fucking obsessing ? Like, even more than the show itself ?
Again, thanks so much! :O)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-24 01:19 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2006-10-24 01:30 am (UTC)Fixed! Thanks for pointing it out. :O)